Old World Blues Part 2
by ougabouga
Summary: The Courier continues his attempts to solidify New Vegas' Independence, but not everyone is enamoured with the new upstart nation.


**Old World Blues Part 2 **

Chapter 1

"I crush you... I crush your head...I'm crushing your head, I'm crushing your head and I'm crushing your head..."

Christine and the Courier sat together on the sofa, laughing hysterically. Yes Man had been right; the Kids in the Hall were really damn funny. It was just the right tonic. Christine had been right too, you need to let loose. Her hair was beginning to grow more fully, now covering her hideous scars. Her hair was black as the night and as soft as silk. The Courier loved to run his fingers through it as he was doing now, in between fits of uproarious laughter. It was easier to laugh now.

"It's a shame there's not more of those, around." Christine remarked as the holovid ended.

"Yeah."

"We should go to bed. We have a big day tomorrow."

"Yeah, but they're all big days now."

He rose, walking to the bedroom. Christine slid under the sheets with him, her hand landed on his crotch.

"But first, I think the Courier has a package to deliver."

They sat down in the Penthouse as Yes Man's face appeared on the screen.

"Hi there, boss. I've got your morning status update. Quarry Junction began operations yesterday. The Ranger Monument at the Mojave Outpost is being torn down as we speak. The Scrap will be recycled. Vault 11 is being sealed up today, making it the last of the Mojave Vaults to be destroyed." He shuddered at the mention of that place.

"The past five days have seen a 25.5% increase in traffic from trading caravans. Lineups at the Medical Clinic and the Old Mormon Fort have decreased as supplies and manpower has rolled in." That was good news. He saw Julie Farkas a few days ago; she looked so ragged her hair wasn't spiked anymore.

"Thanks to some help from Christine, the monorail is operating with 10% greater efficiency. If you manage to secure that contract, we should be able to have a fully functioning Monorail that could serve all of Vegas. The first floor of Cerulean Robotics has been cleared of debris. The Followers will start today repairing the equipment therein. If you secure that contract, soon we'll be able to start manufacturing those inferior little eyebots. I don't know why you insist on such an inferior model boss, and I'm not just saying that because I used to be a Securitrion. No, in many technical aspects..."

"Shut up, Yes Man. Next item."

"Okay, boss. I'm permanently assigning you a Securitron whenever you leave the Lucky 38. You're much more likely to be the target of assassination now that you're a big boss."

The Courier frowned. "I don't need a fucking bodyguard. Haven't you heard? I killed the Deathclaw Alpha Male by pulling down my pants and whipping out my Johnson."

"Now, boss, using sarcasm isn't going to stop an assassin. I calculate a 70% probability that you'll be the target of an assassination attempt within the next 50 days. False bravado like that is what's gotten people killed in the past."

"Dammit I don't need one!"

"Boss, remember that assertiveness upgrade? Well I'm using it now. I'm assigning you and Christine a dedicated Securitron whenever you're outside the Lucky 38. You'll thank me eventually, boss."

"He's got a point." Christine avowed.

The Courier sighed. "Fine."

Chapter 2

They walked out of the Lucky 38 at dawn, ED-E and a Securitron in tow. Christine wore light leather armour and the Q-35 Plasma Rifle slung over her back. He had his usual courier duster and 1st Recon beret. A Light Shining in Darkness holstered firmly at his side. Drunken revellers walked along the streets of the strip. A few turned to stare at the power couple. They walked towards the Freeside Gate when they noticed an impeccably dressed ghoul making his way toward them.

The Courier didn't need to be look at Christine to know she tensed.

"Ah, well, if it isn't my compatriots from the Sierra Madre. How good to see you, partner. Thanks for getting me into the Madre. It was quite... enlightening." Dean Domino intoned cheerfully.

The Courier said nothing, but his ambivalence was obvious.

"I see you hooked up with the mute? I guess I can't say I'm surprised, you never struck me as being a Casonova. I don't blame you, though. I like women who don't talk. They're much more obed..."

Christine's first slammed into Dean's ghoulified face. He fell flat on his back, scraps of rancid flesh hanging from the point of impact.

"Can you hear me now?" She asked.

Despite his ghoulified features, his shock was as clear as day.

"You're free to gamble, watch the shows, and even work here." The Courier began, voice as ice. "But if you so much as think of pulling something, I'll strap you to a post next to a Cazador nest and make sure they spend the next 200 years fucking you up the ass."

The ghoul's decayed features twisted into a malevolent frown as they walked away from him.

"We'll see about that... partner."

""I'll talk to Cachino, make sure he losses more than he wins."

"It's always been like that for him." Christine answered. "And he hasn't improved a single bit."

They found Craig Boone inspecting a cadre of cadets on the new parade square, fifty of them, the first members of the New Vegas army, stationed at Camp McCarran. They were from all over the Mojave. Some were recovered Fiends, some were Khans who hadn't died at Hoover Dam, some were from Freeside, Westside, a handful of NCR citizens had enlisted, severing ties with the Bear. They didn't have uniforms yet so they were wearing street clothes.

"Keep your feet at a 45 degree angle with your ankles touching...fists clenched... eyes straight, no looking around... keep your knees straight... If you're feeling stiff, flex your toes... Recruit Moralez, because you didn't ask permission to scratch yourself, give me 50 pushups."

Boone saw him and they nodded to another.

"He's a natural leader." Commented Dale Tallion, the tentative head of the New Vegas army. They hadn't decided on a rank structure yet, either. He defected from the NCR army after the second Battle of Hoover Dam. The day after the battle he walked right up the Lucky 38, spoke to a Securitron and asked for a job.

"Doesn't talk much, which means when he does, they listen."

"How are they doing?"

"Well as can be, I suppose. They're still pretty green, still having problems with drill and coordination, but we'll whip them into shape."

"I'm sure you will."

"So, have we decided whether I'm a general or not?"

They chuckled. "Not yet, I'm still working on it."

"You need to learn to delegate."

"I am delegating."

"Delegate more."

"Easier said than done. If I delegate to the wrong people, corruption will ensue."

Tallion nodded. They watched as the recruits poorly executed a right turn.

"Maybe a Securitron would make a better drill instructor. Instead of having to do pushups, you'll get fragged if you screw up." Tallion mused.

They laughed, but the Courier realized there might be some truth to this.

"Gun Runners are going to be making a delivery soon. Here's the manifest."

Tallion was impressed. The Courier tapped him on the shoulder. "I figured it would cheer you up."

Chapter 3

They continued their trek southward along the I-15. They spotted the odd Gecko but that was all. The I-15 was less treacherous than before; the activity at Quarry Junction had done much to scare creatures away. It wasn't just the noise but also the increased traffic. Caravans, some formerly with the Crimson Caravan Company, were hauling the lime to Boulder to be mixed into cement. The cement, rather than being siphoned away to the NCR, would now serve to rebuild New Vegas.

"What's this place?" Christine asked as they turned Westward on the road.

"Goodsprings."

"Where you rose from the grave."

"Yep. The people here are good; I haven't seen them in a while."

"Well, well, well. If it isn't our Courier. How are you? You must be doing well since you got yourself a lady friend." Trudy greeted them warmly.

"Pretty good thanks. This is Christine. Christine, Trudy."

"Nice to meet ya, then. What can I get ya, it's on the house."

"I'll have a Rum and Nuka." The Courier asked.

"Just water, thanks." They sat down at the barstools.

The door opened and in walked Easy Pete.

"Howdy." The Courier and Easy Pete greeted another warmly.

"Well don't just stand there, Pete, let the town know the Courier's here."

Trudy served them their drinks, and poured herself some Scotch.

"Actually, all the help you did for us, dealin' with those powder gangers, I never did catch your name."

"It doesn't matter now." She frowned at him.

"Well of course it matters. If you don't have a name..."

"Well, hey there. It's mighty good to see you again." Doc Mitchell tapped the Courier on his back.

"Thanks Doc, it's good to see you too."

"How's your noggin'? I hope no one else rummaged around up there, messin' up my handy work."

The Courier laughed, the only reaction he could think of.

Sunny Smiles followed the Doc, Cheyenne in tow. She smiled when laying eyes upon the Courier, but her smile faded when seeing Christine. She tried to hide it, but it didn't escape Christine's notice. Alcohol and companionship eased the tensions. They drank merrily together, recounting the soon to be famous tale of the Goodsprings Gunfight.

The next morning they walked further south on the I-15. Primm was more active, the Bison hotel was open for business as was the Vicky and Vance casino. The NCR had withdrawn from the town, the camp torn down. Sheriff Meyers was all too happy to use the leftover equipment. Sandbag emplacements now lined every entrance to the town. A couple of deputies stood watch, a massive crate behind them holding the temporarily confiscated weapons of visitors.

The Mojave Outpost was difficult to see from afar. Before the monument's destruction, the bodies of the hung misfits had to be removed. He'd intended for Camp Golf to fall, he saw the Misfits as the base's Achilles heel, but he hadn't intended or anticipated for the Misfits to be summarily executed. He'd ordered their bodies to be given a respectful burial and wrote letters of condolence to their families. He owed them that much.

A few Securitrons manned the outpost, acting as heavily armed customs agents. Their main purpose was symbolic, letting the visitors know they were now in New Vegas, and the NCR way of doing things was gone.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy was in the HQ, her desk peppered with various documents. Her face was ragged. An aide was standing by her desk, anxiously holding a clipboard.

"What the fuck do you have? I'm trying to get some work done!" The aide said nothing as she handed the clipboard over.

"More fucking reports? Well, thank you so very fucking much." She put the clipboard down on her desk. The aide scurried away.

The Courier knocked on the door frame.

"What the fuck is it now?" She scorned, not looking up.

"It's Long Dick Johnson."

She looked up and her expression instantly changed.

She stood up and hugged him warmly, planting a light kiss on his cheek. She regretted doing this when she saw Christine staring at her hardly.

"Oh, Eh...I'm so glad to see you. What are you doing down here?"

"Good to see you too. Just wanting to see how you're doing."

"Oh, I'm doing great. Sitting here being shafted with paperwork is like fighting at Hoover Dam, only more exciting."

"I picked you to coordinate everything because you have caravanning experience. If you need help, let me know. I'm not some evil overlord in a tube."

She nodded. "The job's fine, I can coordinate no problem, it's just the mountains of paperwork."

"Hire someone, then. We have enough caps to cover it."

Cass sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Look, I got a meeting so I'll catch you later."

She nodded and gave him another hug. It was rare for her to hug anyone this way; life had made it hard for her to expression affection. She wished events had unfolded differently. She wished she was at his side, like before, only moreso. Before she'd been so filled with booze and regret, she wasn't in her best shape; she wasn't the woman he needed. But if she'd been sober, like she was now...

Christine remained behind while the Courier walked to the Barracks.

"Listen, I'm sorry...I didn't know..." Cass began.

"It's okay." Christine replied, her face softer now. "The more time I spend with him the more I learn about how much he got around before." They both chuckled.

"Yeah, no hiding that!" They shared a laugh and Cass resumed more seriously. "He's a great man. You're a very lucky woman. Take care of him."

Christine nodded and flashed Cass a warm smile. "Take care of yourself, too."

The Courier sat down at a barstool. Next to him was a middle aged man, thin yet fit. His hair was grey, his face littered with hard lines, and his deep set brown eyes observed the world with the intensity of a starving Deathclaw. His hardened appearance contrasted with his impeccable dress. His three piece suit, as grey as hair, was made of the most expensive fabrics, his shoes were polished to a glossy shine, not a speck of dust was on the man.

"Thank you for seeing me." The man ordered two Scotches.

"It's the least I can do. I don't like talking to people through video screens. It's so impersonal."

"I'm glad to see you're quite different from your predecessor."

"So am I."

The Scotches arrived. They toasted and sipped. Christine joined them.

"Shall we get to business?"

The man nodded. "I've studied your order; the list of items you require is quite extensive. However I'm fully confident that we can accommodate this order. This order, once completed, will make our shareholders extremely happy. But there is a certain risk factor. Your polity is quite unpopular at the moment. Even those politicians who opposed to Mojave campaign hold a certain disdain for this fine place. If it were to be discovered that our humble company were to be one of the main suppliers of your reconstruction, they would look quite unfavourably upon us."

"I understand the risk you're exposed to. But there are ways to mitigate that risk, falsified documents, dummy companies; you know them better than I."

"We're quite well versed with the grey nature of these transactions. What I mean to say is that the risk forces us to increase costs, costs which must be covered, costs which..."

"Must be passed onto the buyer. How much?"

"An extra Fifty thousand caps."

This was marginal, a small percentage of the total order. Vegas made that much money in a few days. Not to mention his own treasury, accumulated by jury rigging, prospecting and doing odd jobs. Still, he couldn't fully succumb to this demand.

"I find that excessive. Fifteen thousand."

"Insulting. Forty thousand."

" Twenty thousand."

" Might I point out that the reconstruction of your city is your first priority? You need this order. Thirty thousand."

"Without this order your company will be absolved by a rival. Or succumb to bankruptcy. Twenty Five thousand."

"Agreed." They shook hands, an Old World gesture that hadn't died, despite its irrelevance. The Courier detected a flash of respect in those eyes of his.

"We expect your initial deposit forthwith. Upon reception, we will begin manufacture and delivery within two weeks of receipt. This is our anticipated delivery schedule." He hand the Courier some documents. "As much as I enjoy travel and your company, I suggest further contact be made via video link using a descrambler."

"Agreed."

Chapter 4 

"It's ironic after booting out the NCR, they're still willing to sell you industrial equipment." Christine remarked, journeying from the Outpost back to the Strip. "They're a nation of whores." He answered and then chided himself when he recalled where he first heard those words. "They expand everywhere, for reasons they don't understand, using symbols they don't understand, emulating a nation they know nothing of. They try to do everything, and as a result achieve nothing."

"I don't understand how pre-war America led the world for so long."

"They only led the world to nuclear fire. And the NCR wants to do it all over again, even if they don't know it. They must be stopped."

Christine didn't disagree. "But you're not gonna attack them?"

"No, not yet. Vegas still needs them. And the NCR has many enemies. The Arizona tribes are causing problems on their borders, now that the Legion's grasp is weakening. I want the people of the NCR to come here, to see there's a different way, to cast aside the dead symbols of a dead world. Maybe, inspire a revolution or two."

It was early evening, note quite dusk, and the sun was peaking over the Western buildings of Freeside. Even though the day was almost done, the Sun beamed fiercely on those below. The searing Mojave sun was difficult to become accustomed to, some never did. They were looking forward to sleeping in their own bed, years of roughing it in the wastes made them appreciate the small comforts.

ED-E's battle music began blaring.

"Threat Detected. 9 O'clock high. Engaging target. Obtain cover."

Christine and The Courier Ducked as the crack of a rifle shattered the day's calmness. He covered her body with his own. The bullet audibly whizzed by them, impacting a few short feet away.

ED-E and the Securitron opened fire on a third story window of the building next to them. ED-E carpeted the gap with his laser fire; the Securitron utilized its grenade launcher and Gatling laser. He saw movement in the window as the would-be assassin ran from his hiding place. Another grenade impacted behind him. The concussion of the blast sent the man flying through the air, out through another window and onto the street.

The assassin cried aloud in pain as he landed, breaking both of his kness. His left arm had been severed and blood was flowing like water from a broken drain. "Hold your fire!" The Courier ordered. "You okay?" He asked Christine, his heart beating, not for his own safety, but for hers. "Yeah. You?" "Fine." They rose and walked to the assassin, writhing in agony on the floor.

The assassin, a young man not yet in his twenties, spat when he saw them walking towards him. Though he continued to writhe and cry in agony, his face pale from loss of blood though his eyes were oddly lucid.

"Who sent you?" The Courier asked.

The assassin cracked a pained smile. "You fuck with the bear... you get mauled...asshole." The man coughed up blood, but his writhing had stopped. Death was knocking at the door, and the man was eager to answer its call.

"Duty... honour...courage...Semper... Fi." His eyes glazed over as life left him.

To be Continued in Part 3


End file.
